On the Contrary
by Lissy Stage
Summary: Molly Weasley the Second and Roxanne Weasley grew up in similar environments, but their respective perspectives on life are... different, to say the least. Or, that one in which one character hates another for making her feel something more than what she actually desires. Written for the Pairing One Hour Challenge on HPFC. Femmeslash. Next-gen. Molly II/Roxanne.


**Title:** On the Contrary

 **Challenge/Prompt:** Written for the Pairing One Hour Challenge/Hardest Challenge Ever III, hosted by Allie (dimitrisgirl18), to the prompts of pairing: Molly Weasley II/Roxanne Weasley; word: expectations; and emotion: longing.

 **Rating:** M

 **Word Count** : About 2430 words

 **Characters/Pairings:** Molly Weasley II/Roxanne Weasley, Molly Weasley II/Male OC

 **Disclaimer:** This work of fiction is in no way connected to the author of Harry Potter, JK Rowling. Harry Potter is owned by her, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

 **Warning(s)** : Next-gen, femmeslash, denial, internalized homophobia, alternating POVs, a mess of a fic, bad pacing, unbetaed

* * *

It'd begun when she was younger; the spark that enfolded between her and the girl next to her as they skipped on the pavement, giggling and chatting about nothing. She felt comforted by their talks, by the feeling of fingers sliding through her hair, playing with the strands at their leisure. Loved to sigh and cuddle into her friend as they sat in front of a big, oak tree, laughing in glee when a leaf fell on one of their bobbing heads.

Molly Weasley the Second grew up with the dreams and fantasies of what she would grow up as. She never wanted for anything, for she was always surrounded by family. She loved them to bits and pieces, wanted to stay cuddled at her grandmother's – Grandmum Molly's – side for ages and ages, listening to her tell of the silly antics her uncles and auntie had gotten into when they were her age, and then on.

She knew she wanted a family of her own, one that was as large and warm and prosperous as the one that she grew up with. Wanted a child of her own, to coo at and raise and love for her own. She wanted for that child she was currently playing with – Lucy, Albus Severus, Lily, or even Hugo – to be hers in the way that she was her parents', and her parents' with their parents, and so on and so forth.

And so she kept her most secretive secret to herself – for no one need know what lurked at the depths of her heart of hearts – and went on with her life, as it was.

For she had heard the way her father sometimes spoke of _others_ – the women who held hands at Fortescue's or the men whom were purchasing the latest robes from Gladrags – and refused to be an _other_ and shame her family.

* * *

Years later, when Molly Weasley the Second had finally managed to snuff the light out of her own fervent desires – she was now thirteen going on fourteen – she told herself that the pain she felt, when she saw Hugo embrace his girlfriend warmly, or saw Lily flirting shamelessly with a Ravenclaw boy in the corridors, was jealousy of their relationships, rather than anything else.

She actively pursued a boy whose name she couldn't recall and snogged the life out of him, enjoying what she could from the activity, though it wasn't much. She patted him through his clothing and pretended that the shudder that wracked her thin frame was nothing but desire, rather than the revulsion she felt at her actions. At the feeling of a boy's length nestled within the clasp of her hand as he clutched at her back, bucking into her unpractised hand.

* * *

Roxanne Weasley grew up just as warm and coddled and loved as the others had. She loved her mum just as fiercely as she loved her father. She fought feverishly with Fred, but defended him just as feverishly from others. She was a protector, first and foremost.

Roxanne listened to the tales of her late-uncle Fred's adventures with her dad. Loved to sit around the fire with her younger brother, Fred, and drift off to sleep to the sound of her father's warm, dulcet tones, expanding on whatever story he was currently speaking of. Was especially fond of staying asleep for hours and hours at a time, and pretending she was asleep for longer than she was, in actuality, in order to get her father to pick her up and nestle her in her bed. Felt a warmth settle in her chest when her father and mother tucked her in and kissed her on the forehead, before leaving the room and her to herself.

She grew up assured of her place in the world. Knew that she would always be loved, no matter how she felt or what she did. Knew that the only things she truly had to live up to were of her own imaginings. Knew her father would prefer her to grow up as clever as he, and her mother wanted for her to be kind and thoughtful, but never a push-over.

She took the stories her father had recited in the glow of the fire and solidified them into goals for herself, with the finesse of a metalworker and steel.

Including being true to herself.

When Roxanne first realised that her gaze was more towards the female sex, she told her parents. They accepted her with open-arms, not a word of assertion that she might be confused or that it would be too early for her to know something so integral to her person, as that was that.

She was content.

Thus, she left for Hogwarts with a peace of mind unmatched by any others'.

* * *

Molly Weasley the Second fought with herself every step of the way in her teenage years. She refused to be what wasn't acceptable, and thus rolled with the punches. She wasn't especially content in her decisions, but she would never allow that to colour her judgment. Not everything that was good was always easy to go along with, after all.

She walked the walk and talked the talk, staying up with her friends to gab about this boy or that boy. She spoke of her own experiences, as if they weren't painted with a brush of dark regret, and likened them with her friends'.

She was okay with herself and her decisions.

Until she had discovered Roxanne, in the lavatory, with another girl.

Snogging.

Molly Weasley the Second felt an odd heat settle in the lower quadrant of her abdomen, and her hand reach up to smother the soft gasp that fell from her lips at the sight. Her eyes widened at the sight of her dear cousin, tongue lodged in another girl's mouth – a Slytherin to her Gryffindor – the girl's hands in her hair, knee nestled between the girl's spread legs.

She left just as swiftly as she had entered, all thoughts of checking her clothing and using the toilet leaving her.

* * *

Molly Weasley the Second spent more time than she wished staring after Roxanne's figure, noticing the striking differences between her and herself. She noticed the way Roxanne always smiled warmly at her friends, and just as warmly to the people she didn't like.

She noticed the way her auburn hair sometimes shown outside, when the sunlight hit it at certain angles, and the way she sat near the girls she was close to. Saw the way she closed her lips around a forkful of her favourite dessert and her eyelashes fluttered slightly at the first bite.

And Molly Weasley the Second burned with a desire unbecoming of her. Hated the way Roxanne made her feel. Hated that she was distracting her attention from her studies, from the few lessons they shared, together. And she hated with a heat that matched the fiery hair that was signature of her family.

And how she _desired_ for Roxanne, just as fiercely. For those clever hands to touch her body, to moan at the feeling of that heat scorning her own skin, to feel that tongue in her mouth, to lick every inch of her skin from head to toe.

And though she felt such stark contradictions, she tried her best to focus her attentions on her latest fling, to cling just as tightly to her Nott as before, to push away those wayward and _disgusting_ thoughts of her cousin, her own kin.

Another girl.

* * *

Roxanne noticed a distinct difference in the way Molly acted towards her, as late. She noticed it in the way the girl's red locks would sway as she turned her head away from her direction, suddenly. The way she purposefully avoided being seen in the same rooms as her – a corridor, a common room, even a Great Hall, consequently. Even in the way she seemed to tense up suddenly whenever Roxanne sat near her on the couch or in front of the fireplace.

It was the tiniest bit irritating, to say the least.

So Roxanne sought to force the envelope, to get as close to Molly as possible until the girl finally let loose what she wanted to say.

It was obvious that she had something to say.

But no matter how often she pushed up against Molly, got into her personal space, spoke a bit too loudly and obnoxiously in her presence, the girl never budged. She stuck steadfast to her silence.

And it was _so_ maddening. All Roxanne wanted was for Molly to come _out_ with it, to say her peace and walk away. To stop being so _damned_ so stubborn. Merlin only knew what was needling her.

And the moment Roxanne finally snapped and demanded for Molly to just _tell_ her what the hell was up with her, she was shocked at the emotion that lit up her eyes, the resolute frustration written clearly on her face, as the girl shoved Roxanne up against the newest wall and forced her lips upon her own.

Roxanne's lips remained closed and unmoving at her cousin's shocking actions, at the bruising nature of the kiss.

When Molly finally let go and stumbled back in shock, her hand flying to her bruised crimson lips in bewilderment – and was that _shame_? – she finally spoke:

"I-I saw you snogging that Slytherin the lavatory a month ago," she spoke fast, her confession seemingly just flowing from her lips. Lips that Roxanne was still dazed at having felt on her own. With a flick of her tongue, she tasted a flavour she wasn't familiar with on them. Molly. "And I couldn't get the idea out of my mind. Of her tongue in your mouth, of her hands in your hair, of your thigh between her legs…

"This is _all_ your fault," Molly finally finished, anger blazing within her brown eyes.

" _My_ fault?" Roxanne sputtered in kind. "How could any of this be _my_ fault? It's not as if I _forced_ you to kiss me. Or to even… we're cousins!"

"If only you hadn't infected me with your… your queerness, this wouldn't've happened. I've not felt this way about anyone else, before."

"My _queerness_?" Roxanne asked. "What in Merlin's name are you even talking about? I can't have infected you with _anything_ because it's not some disease I can rub off on you. Merlin, Molly, what's gotten into you?"

Molly seemed to be struck dumb at that, her face crumbling just as quickly as it had previously lit with anger and denial into a countenance of despair.

"I can't be gay," she said. "I can't be."

Roxanne sighed at that, taking a few steps closer to her younger, baby cousin and pulling her into her body, arms coming around to offer comfort. She felt the heat of her body like nothing else, and the sigh that escaped from Molly's lips made her think thoughts that wouldn't contribute much of anything to the conversation.

Lips that had felt so soft, pushed against her own.

"Look," Roxanne started. "There's nothing wrong with feeling differently than others about certain things. It's none of their business how you feel, and the likewise can be said of yourself.

"There's no need to beat yourself up over something that you can't help, just like it wouldn't help anything if I were to do the same as you. Your father and mother and Lucy will love you no matter what, okay?"

"I'm not so sure of that," Molly muttered. "But, okay…"

* * *

'No, it wasn't okay,' Molly Weasley the Second thought to herself. 'Nothing was okay. Nothing, at all.'

She felt the weight and reality of what she had done a week ago like an ache, as if it had, in fact, occurred just moments before. She felt as if, any second now, her father would owl her with his desire to cut ties.

She felt dread and despair.

No longer desiring to keep up the more deceptive portion of her façade, she thus broke up with her boyfriend several days ago, to the boy's consternation. Though she felt badly for him, she knew that it was becoming unfair to the both of them for her to do date him under false pretences, to use him as her beard.

And every time she met Roxanne's gaze, thereafter, she felt more insecure about her feelings, and the reasons behind those feelings. And she felt more desire than she had previously, knowing how those lips felt under her own, the way her chest pressed into her own.

With Winter Hols came the realisation that she should come out to her parents. Better late than ever, as her Grandmum loved to say, whenever someone finally came clean about a secret they'd been harbouring for a long while.

The day that she finally told her parents about herself – a week into the holidays – she felt the burden come off her chest, as if an oppressive weight had been lifted from atop her.

And though her parents were more begrudging than the rest of her family, she felt relief. Relief that didn't _have_ to be like everyone else to be accepted for whom she was. That she could feel free to pursue whomever she pleased, and no one would bat a lash, for she was just _Molly_.

* * *

"What is it, now, Molly?" Roxanne asked, after having been ambushed on her way to her rooms at the Burrow. Granddad had fixed the house with more adjoining rooms in light of the boisterous family that now roamed the halls with increasing frequency, with the help of all the adults in the house, and she wished to retire before Christmas Day.

"It's," Molly said, biting her lip in pause before she stared up at Roxanne with determination set in her features. "Can I kiss you, again?"

Roxanne wondered, at that. Did she feel any sort of way about Molly? She'd certainly never thought of her in anything but an innocent light before the girl had kissed her, the month previous. But did she feel anything towards her, now?

It was a bit of a shock that, when Roxanne finally allowed herself to examine her feelings, that she _did_ feel just a tiny amount of something _else_ towards Molly. And gazing at the girl's heart-shaped face and Cupid's bow lips, the freckles that littered her pale complexion, and the way her clothing formed to her body, she nodded.

And they kissed.

And they both realised, well… they needn't fit whatever agenda everyone else thought they should, for it was just them being them. And that's all that mattered.

* * *

 **Author's Note** :

Blech. This fic felt very rushed, and there are some moments when I just couldn't find the words to describe how they were feeling. I don't understand longing XD Or any of what Molly feels. She was difficult to write, to say the least.

I hope you enjoyed this fic! :3 Please leave a review, no matter how little you have to say.


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